


Can I?

by anythingbutgrief



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutgrief/pseuds/anythingbutgrief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can I kiss you?" Speculative fic set in late season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I?

**Author's Note:**

> This incorporates some of the latest spoilers, so if you like to avoid spoilers reading this would not be a good idea.

The house had only just emptied, Ian’s cheek still warm from Debbie’s goodbye kiss, when he looked across at Mickey, seeing him with his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the floor like they’d been the entire time Ian’s siblings had been bustling around him, hugging him and demanding that he visit the house the next day and call if he needed to come over before then. Mickey had just stood there, apart, the whole time, like he was a stranger in his own house, even if he saw him nod once at Lip and give Debbie a half-smile on their way out.

And he still wasn’t looking at him. 

Ian cleared his throat, hoping that would get Mickey’s attention. No such luck. “So,” he started. Mickey’s chin remained pointed to the floor even as his lips twitched and grimaced. Ian had to fight the urge to run out the front door to chase after his family and tell them he had to sleep over at their place. It wouldn’t hurt so much, being ignored over there. Ian swallowed heavily. His mouth was so dry lately, it almost hurt to do. “Where should I sleep?” 

That finally got Mickey to look up, face scrunched up in confusion. “Where do you _think_  you’re sleeping?”

"I didn’t know if you wanted me to crash on the couch or—"  _Or sleep with you again. Or in the gutter where I belong_. Ian shook his head as if to shake those thoughts away, but that didn’t work. It never worked anymore. 

It took a moment for Mickey to register Ian’s meaning, apparently, but when it did his face fell for all of two seconds before he marched across the room toward Ian.

When he reached him, Mickey let out a long breath, so deep it sounded like he’d been holding it for weeks, and grabbed onto Ian’s waist with both hands. “That’s so— _Jesus_ , Ian. Come on.” 

Mickey’s hands were firm on his waist as he guided him into the direction of the bedroom. Ian hadn’t been in there yet, not since before he’d gone in for treatment. He spotted a pile of clothes, mostly a bunch of tanks he had been planning to wash weeks ago, that he’d left on the side of their bed—- _Mickey’s_  bed, his brain corrected itself. It doesn’t get to be  _his_  bed, too, anymore, not properly called that way. Not after the shit he’d pulled. 

Ian turned to ask about his shirts but almost knocked into Mickey’s face with his own. He hadn’t realized he’d stayed so close to Ian after he’d shut the door behind them. Mickey’s gaze had that hard intensity behind it right now, so focused on him that Ian forgot what he was going to say.

"Ian," Mickey said, like that was a whole sentence. The pause between that and his next words stretched on as he stared at him, eyes fixed on Ian’s face. "Can I kiss you?" 

Ian’s face grew hot, and his throat felt drier, and then Mickey was getting blurrier like Ian was looking at him from behind fogged glass, but it wasn’t until Mickey’s face fell again, this time looking as crushed as Ian had ever seen him, before he realized:  _Oh. I’m crying._

"Oh, fuck, fuck." Mickey stepped forward and crushed their torsos together, wrapping one arm around Ian’s back and the other up around his head to pull Ian down so he could cry into Mickey’s neck, and now the tears were falling fast and hard and hot onto Ian’s cheeks, and then onto Mickey’s skin, and a noise cracked out of Ian’s throat that sounded like a tree branch snapping in a storm. "Fuck, I didn’t—-you don’t have to…"

Ian grasped at Mickey’s shirt, pulling it and pulling it until he accidentally popped one of the buttons open, and then he moved upward to clutch at Mickey’s neck, moving him into place so Ian could press kiss after kiss after kiss along the vein running from his collarbone to his jaw, up and down and up again. Ian cried harder and pecked along Mickey’s chin and cheeks, kissing off his own tears and he laughed at that, but it wasn’t a pretty sound, it was ugly, his own hollow hysterical giggles punctuating the presses of his lips against Mickey’s face, Mickey’s breathing going heavy and loud in between them. 

Mickey’s hands came up to rub up and down Ian’s chest soothingly even as he pulled his head away an inch so that Ian’s next kiss missed. “It’s okay, it’s okay, just. Calm down, all right? I didn’t mean to get you upset.” 

Ian shook his head but caught his breath, the tears slowing down now, and he was grateful that Mickey kept his hands on him, petting over his pectorals and ribs and shoulders. Ian let his breathing go regular under Mickey’s touch. “You wanna kiss me?” Ian asked once he felt certain he could speak without his voice cracking. 

Mickey’s hands stilled. “You don’t have to do anything. You just need to sleep in an actual bed, so—”

"Mickey, shut up." Ian saw Mickey smile at that for a second, small and private, so he didn’t feel too bad. "You really wanna kiss me?"  _Please say yes please say yes please say yes please yes please say yes._

Mickey smiled again, but with more pain in his eyes than Ian ever wanted to see. “Of course I do,” Mickey said, voice so low it was just this side of a whisper, honest and quiet the way only Mickey could ever be.

"You still want me?" Ian breathed out. His heart was pounding in his ears so much it fucking hurt. 

Mickey looked away from him again, back down to the floor, and Ian watched his throat work, his jaw clench and unclench like it was grinding against the words trying to make their way out of his mouth. When he spoke this time, it really was a whisper.

"I don’t want anything else." 

There was an ache in Ian’s chest at the words, first distant, then sharper and sharper, like the cramp of sensation piercing through the fog of a limb that had fallen asleep, but it was happening in Ian’s whole body, like his every bone was preparing to cleave itself apart like cell division, like his body was breaking. His body was waking.

Ian felt like praying to the pain throbbing in his chest  _Oh please don’t go away, please please please_. So he sought more. “Mickey,” he whispered, and Mickey looked up at him then, and Ian could see his eyes were full of tears, and Ian followed the pain in his chest to step forward to crash their mouths together, inelegantly, messily, sliding over from his mouth to his cheek back to his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip, kisses damp with the taste of salt and copper. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Ian had been nodding along to those words for a minute in between kisses until he realized where they were coming from, that they weren’t his own thoughts echoing in his ears. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ian,” Mickey sobbed before pressing his mouth onto Ian’s so hard it was like he was trying to breathe air into Ian’s lungs.

Ian broke away from his mouth long enough to mumble, “Why?”

Mickey kissed him again before answering, nibbling on one lip and then the other. “I didn’t—I let you get hurt.”

Ian shook his head. “Nobody hurt me but me,” he muttered, and it felt a little like a lie, maybe, but he meant it.

"That doesn’t make a difference. You still got hurt," Mickey replied quickly, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "I didn’t know if—I didn’t even know if you were gonna be okay."

Ian pulled at Mickey’s hands to lead him over to the bed, pulling them both down until he was leaning up against the pillows and Mickey was leaning up against him. It felt nice, to be able to hold Mickey like this, like maybe he could protect him, keep  _him_  safe for once. “I won’t scare you like that again. I promise,” Ian whispered into Mickey’s hair, but Mickey shook his head as he cuddled further into Ian’s chest.

"You always scare me, though." 

"I’m sorry," Ian said weakly. 

Mickey’s fingers came up to trace his mouth. “Don’t be fucking sorry. Just be….here. With me.” 

Ian kissed Mickey’s fingers until they relaxed and fell against Ian’s collarbone. “So you’re allowed to be sorry and I’m not? That how it is?” Ian grinned down at Mickey, who was absent-mindedly rubbing Ian’s stomach with his other hand. 

"Mm-hmm. That’s how it is," Mickey confirmed, and Ian could see how his eyes had fallen shut, his body sinking deeper into Ian’s. Like all Mickey needed to relax was Ian’s body beneath him. It made him feel better about being here, taking up space in Mickey’s home, making Mickey feel good. It made him feel worse about being gone, and his eyes spotted the pile of clothes he’d forgotten about earlier, on the other side of Mickey now. He felt Mickey press his face into his chest and inhale three times, deep and long and slow like he wanted as much of Ian’s scent as possible.

"My shirts over there," Ian said quietly, and he could tell Mickey knew what he was talking about immediately by the way he stiffened on top of him. "You, uh, you noticed them? While I was in the hospital?" Ian reached down to pet through Mickey’s hair slowly and soothingly because he knew the answer already.

"Yeah. I might have noticed," Mickey replied, and Ian felt like giggling and crying all at once again because he knew that was code for  _Yes, I might have cuddled into your shirts while you were gone to feel you, to smell you, to hold you._

"Our bed’s too big, Ian," Mickey whispered, and snuggled closer. 

It felt like there were a thousand sunrises burning behind Ian’s eyes. He blinked rapidly but some tears still came out. “Maybe you’re just too small,” Ian said, laughing, but his voice still shook. He wasn’t good at hiding his crying anymore, not like he used to be. Maybe that was a good thing, though, because Mickey just opened his eyes and smiled at him, and Ian smiled back.

Mickey’s hand came up again to brush away the tears. “Fuck off. I need my pillow, you know?”

"Yeah," Ian whispered hoarsely. "Need you, too."


End file.
